Work Text:
Francis was drunk. Really drunk, in fact. He hadn’t intended to drink so much during Mark and Lucy’s joint-birthday party, but the stress of the past few weeks must have gotten to him more than he thought because soon one glass of wine turned to three, which then turned to six. And now that he was thoroughly wasted, a realization dawned on him: that hardly anyone at this party liked him.
He supposed deep-down, he always knew that to be the case. It wasn’t like he tried to get any of them to like him in the first place. He had always been of the opinion that it was not the boss’s job to be liked, but to manage the employees and get stuff working properly. He was not running the Guild to be an organization built on friendship. Instead, it was an organization full of people whose individual goals and lifestyles needed his money to survive. It was a fragile loyalty, built only by monetary means, but it worked. However, while his business model worked, it could be a lonely one, especially in times like these.
After shakily pouring himself another glass, he scanned the room at each of the individual members. He spotted Louisa chatting with Lucy, who was animatedly telling her something with hand motions and everything. She must have said something funny, cause soon the two were giggling. He saw Poe, who was standing near the two girls crack a small smile as well. Whatever Lucy said must have been a hoot if it could make Poe look like anything other than an anxious, uncomfortable mess.
Out of the three of them, Louisa was the only one who Francis could say was his friend. That girl had always been loyal to a fault with him. However, Lucy and Poe were different. Lucy, he knew, disliked him, but she would never be vocal about it like John was. She owed him too much. If it weren’t for the Guild and Francis, she’d still be trapped in that horrid orphanage and she knew it. Therefore, she could hate him as much as she wanted, but he knew she would never leave the Guild unless he were to be disposed of somehow. He had her trapped by duty and obligation, both of which made a powerful cage. Poe was unique. He neither liked Francis nor disliked him. He merely tolerated him. He had never bothered to fully listen to Poe’s story, but he knew the man was only in the Guild for one reason only: revenge. And until he got his revenge, Francis had no doubt Poe would stay in the Guild to use the resources provided for him.
Moving his gaze away from them, he moved his gaze towards Margaret Mitchell and Nathaniel Hawthorne, who looked like they were bickering about something as usual. He rolled his eyes. He swore those two were like cats and dogs. He didn’t know how the two of them managed to get anything done, but they were some of his best employees when it came to completing work. In fact, they did so many missions that Francis hardly ever saw them. When he did though, he couldn’t say they were friends. Both Margaret and Nathaniel were cordial to him, but that was about it. Both of them were too focused on their individual missions to care much about making friends anyway, Margaret’s being to pay off her family’s debt and Nathaniel’s being to purge the world of sin. And while Francis couldn’t prove it, he swore Nathaniel secretly hated him and his decadent lifestyle. He swore even now, he could feel Nathaniel occasionally throwing a glare his way, disapproval in his purple eyes.
Then there was Herman Melville, sitting by himself, looking distant and depressed as always, just watching the world around him go by. Francis couldn’t talk to the man ever without the man going into some nostalgic story about the Guild in the old days… and Francis didn’t care to listen to it.
Then there was Lovecraft and John talking about something outside on the balcony. He wouldn’t dare go out there and join them. John had always been honest about his dislike of Francis, and Lovecraft just plain creeped Francis out.
That only left one member of the group out…
As Francis was looking for him, he flinched suddenly when he felt an arm wrap around his neck and suddenly, the side of his head was touching Mark Twain’s.
Grinning, Mark exclaimed, “What are you doing here all by your lonesome self, Francis? It’s supposed to be a party!” He could tell by the light red tint coloring Mark’s cheeks and the smell of alcohol on the other man’s breath that he was a bit tipsy.
Francis refused to admit that he’d been sitting here at the bar practically the whole party. So, smiling lightly back, he just said, “I was just taking a bit of a breather here is all.”
Luckily, Mark seemed to believe his lie. Removing himself off of Francis, he sat down at the seat next to him and asked, “Then mind if I take a breather next to you?”
“Fine by me,” Francis said, “It’s your birthday. I’ll even buy you a drink.”
“Thanks!” Mark said with an eager grin, “Rye whiskey, please.”
Soon, the two of them were sitting together, chatting with one another idly. At some point during the conversation though, Huck and Tom disagreed with something Mark said, and soon, the three were arguing with one another about all sorts of things. As the three of them bickered, Francis studied the man in front of him.
Mark was the only member of the Guild who Francis couldn’t fully calculate. He didn’t have any deep, esoteric reason for joining the Guild like the others. The only thing Francis could figure as to why he joined the Guild in the first place was that it allowed Mark to use his Ability, as Mark made it clear multiple times he loved shooting guns. But even that was just a guess on Francis’s part. He still didn’t fully know what motivated Mark into staying with the Guild, even as the stakes mounted higher and higher.
Not only could Francis not guess Mark’s motivations, but he also struggled to figure out why Mark acted the way he did. Like now, Mark could be hanging out with anyone he wanted here. He knew Mark and John were friends with one another, and he’d seen Mark and Louisa chat with each other more than a few times. So why was Mark hanging out with him of all people? Somebody, who no one else seemed to like? He knew Mark liked to include people and be friends with everyone, but surely for his birthday, he should hang out with only people he cared about?
Emboldened by all the alcohol, Francis asked this out loud. Mark, Huck, and Tom almost immediately stopped their argument to pause and look at him in confusion, making Francis suddenly feel very uncomfortable. Had he said something dumb? That feeling only doubled when Mark began to let out a hearty laugh.
Francis flinched once more when he felt a hand slap his back in a friendly manner, Mark chuckling, “Oh Boss, you’re not that bad. I like hanging out with you.”
Francis couldn’t help but feel surprised by that. “Y-you do?” He cursed himself for stammering and for the blush creeping onto his cheeks. What was he, a flustered high school student? He could only hope the flush from the alcohol covered up the blush and that Mark didn’t notice the stammer.
“Nope. I mean, you can be mean sometimes, but most of the time, I think you’re funny, smart,” Pausing, he gave Francis a look before slyly adding, “And cute.” The wink that followed only made it worse and Francis swore, if he didn’t have better self-control, the stem of his wineglass would’ve snapped under his grip.
“Cute?” Francis asked again, not believing he heard it right the first time.
“Yep!” Mark said, with an unabashed smile while Huck and Tom pretended to gag around him.
Francis shook his head and chuckled, “You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying, Twain. You’re gonna wake up and regret this in the morning”
Twain shook his head back and pointed out, “Not that drunk. In fact, I think you’re drunker than me. Seriously, what number of glass is that you are on?”
“None of your business,” Francis said curtly, before gulping down the rest of it to make a point. His head was going to kill him in the morning.
Twain chuckled once again at the display. The two of them sat in silence for a few moments, before Mark said, “You want me to show you how serious I am?”
Francis’ eyes widened and he asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I want to kiss you. Will you let me?” Mark suddenly breathed.
Everything almost seemed to freeze for Francis as those words entered the air. Even Huck and Tom’s loud, immature ‘ooooooooh’ didn’t phase him. Finally, before his traitorous mind could stop him, he nodded.
Mark leaned over and immediately pressed his lips against Francis’ in a chaste kiss. Francis pressed back a little before breaking it off to catch his breath, his heart pounding against his ribcage.
“Believe me now?” Mark said, with a proud, smug little grin on his face. Francis could only nod dumbly, his mind too frazzled to dare say anything.
The two of them spent the rest of the night talking to one another amiably about various things. Yes, things could be lonely for Francis sometimes as the leader of the Guild… but thanks to Mark Twain, that night was an exception.